


Lavinia's Revenge! (Or: Two Women And A Baby)

by dollsome



Category: Downton Abbey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:32:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the grim events of series three, Mary accidentally resurrects Lavinia to be her partner in parenting. Shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Most Awkward Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> BLAME ZLOT.
> 
> And Zoe Boyle (for the title, anyway).

There are six women in black dresses standing in the Downton cemetery in the dead of night. They are surrounding one grave in particular: that of the newly late Mr. Matthew Crawley, The Almost Earl of Grantham. Candles and elaborate flower arrangements surround his grave, painstakingly arranged by Anna and O’Brien. The women of Downton Abbey have invited the dark spirits to tea (in a manner of speaking), and as everyone knows, it is never a good idea to snub an invitation from the Crawley women. Even the dark spirits must fear the wrath of Lady Mary’s perfectly shaped eyebrows.

Their chances of success, then, are fairly high.

“If this is a smart plan, then I’m a rhinoceros,” mutters O’Brien to Cora.

O’Brien is, quite obviously, not a rhinoceros. It’s enough to make everyone a bit apprehensive.

“Mary,” Cora says, her mouth a slightly disapproving line, “are you sure this is the best idea?”

“ _I_ think it’s rather tasteless.”

“Oh, do shut up, Edith,” Mary says impatiently. She is beginning to regret her decision to let Edith in on Operation Sea Monster Resurrection. Sisterly bonding is vastly overrated.

“Summoning Matthew back from the grave?” Edith sniffs. “It just seems a little desperate to me.”

“Oh, but falling for a man with a mad wife isn’t?” Mary demands.

“It worked for Jane Eyre,” Edith says firmly.

“You said that about Sir Anthony too.”

“I suppose she _has_ always had a fascination with older men with dead arms who know how to jilt a girl at the altar,” Violet reflects, pursing her lips. “Though who doesn’t?” She titters to herself.

Edith pouts.

“I’m not raising this baby alone,” Mary announces archly. “Some women may find it fulfilling to devote their every waking thought to their children, but I’d prefer to have a life, thank you very much.”

“You’re not alone, my lady,” Anna contributes. “You’ve got us.” Delicately, she adds, “Do you really need a zombie Mr. Crawley to chip in as well?”

She and Cora exchange looks that say We’ve Helped Mary With Her Dead Boyfriend Problems Before And We’d Prefer Not To Go There Again If At All Possible.

“He won’t be a zombie,” Mary scowls.

“Are you certain he won’t come back differently, Mary?” Cora asks anxiously. “Grumpier, maybe, or ... rotting?”

“I’m not cleaning up after that,” O’Brien says indignantly.

“Fortunately, O’Brien,” Cora replies, “that would be Mr. Molesley’s problem.”

“Poor Mr. Molesley,” Anna sighs.

“Matthew will be fine,” Mary says impatiently. “It was just a motorcar accident. Honestly, Mama, must you fret over everything?”

“That, Mary, is a mother’s job.”

“Well, it won’t be mine,” Mary says, disgusted. “Now come on. _Dark spirits, hear our call ..._ ”

Everyone stares awkwardly at one another. There is just something just so distinctly unBritish about raising the dead.

Mary glares at all of them.

“ _Dark spirits, hear our call ..._ ” everyone echoes reluctantly. Crossing Mary Crawley is never a good idea.

“Very good,” Mary says, pleased. “Now just provide some eerie _ooh_ s in the background, if you would.”

Cora, Violet, Edith, O’Brien, and Anna start _ooh_ -ing obediently. (Edith’s might be more like _moo_ s than _ooh_ s. She takes what small rebellions she can.)

“ _Relinquish from the bowels of death the one who was taken too soon, the one who will stay with me through thick and thin and remain by my side all the days of my life._ _My_ LONG,” Mary adds pointedly after a moment’s thought, “ _life_.”

“Bowels of death?” Edith wrinkles her nose.

“It’s resurrection, Edith, not embroidery,” Mary snaps. “ _Return to me, dearest companion! Return so that we might raise this child together. Return. Return. RETURN!_ ”

There’s a flash of blinding white light! Thunder booms!

But when the light clears, there is no Matthew standing before his grave.

Mary frowns.

“What in the world is going on?” asks a sweet and husky voice from behind them, sounding groggy.

All of the women turn to a gravestone that’s been, to be honest, rather ignored for the past few years.

“Oh dear,” Cora says.

“Ha!” say O’Brien and Edith in unison. Then they both pretend not to have done it.

Lavinia Swire is standing before them, dressed in ethereal white and looking a bit grumpy to have been disturbed. (On the plus side, though, she’s not at all rotten.)

“You again?” she asks, rubbing her eyes. “But I thought I was done with you lot. Wait. Have you all died? Did Edith finally snap and put arsenic in the tea?”

“What? I wouldn’t even dream of doing that!” Edith says through a great burst of nervous laughter.

Lavinia gives her a Look.

“Well, I never would have actually done it,” Edith mutters.

“Lavinia, what are you doing here?” Mary asks, putting her hands on her hips. “I was trying to resurrect Matthew.”

“Matthew died,” Edith explains helpfully.

“I know Matthew died,” Lavinia says. “He’s quite put out about it.”

“You’ve been seeing Matthew?” Mary asks sharply.

“Not like that.” Lavinia rolls her eyes. “I promise, Mary, the broken engagement stuck. Mostly, I’m just his shoulder to brood on.”

“He does love to brood,” Mary acknowledges.

“You think he was bad after _I_ died? Now that _he’s_ died, it’s a thousand times worse.”

“Has he gone all sallow and angry?”

“He has. He’ll wear only black, which is not precisely fashionable where we are. _And_ he’s taken up the violin so he can play dirges for himself. He’s not very good yet.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Matthew,” Mary sighs, exasperated.

“Sybil makes for much better company,” Lavinia adds, brightening. “She and I are starting an afterlife detective agency.”

Everyone looks rather cheerful at the mention of Sybil.

“Sybil’s a darling,” Mary says warmly. “Still, I was trying to get Matthew back. You aren’t exactly relevant to the situation at hand. No offense.”

“None taken,” Lavinia says, though she looks as if there’s at least _some_ taken. “And I certainly didn’t _try_ to come back. I was perfectly content right where I was. Did you mention Matthew by name? It’s always important to mention the person you’re resurrecting by name so the dark spirits don’t get confused.”

Mary sniffs loftily. “It was obvious I was talking about Matthew.”

“Was it?” Lavinia says, doubtful.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t talking about you!” Mary explodes. “No one’s even thought about you since the 1919 Christmas special! Most of the time, no one even thought about you while you were actually there! It took a fatal bout of Spanish Flu to even get more than two people to pay attention to you at the same time!”

“Christmas special?” Lavinia repeats, frowning in confusion.

“Special Christmas,” Mary amends hastily, “where Matthew proposed.” Lavinia rolls her eyes. “The point is, I liked you very much, Lavinia, and I was sorry to see you go. But if I were to choose a person to resurrect, you’d certainly be third on the list!”

“And yet here I am,” Lavinia says crossly.

“And yet here you are,” Mary agrees, giving her a smoldering glare.

There’s a moment’s tense silence.

“Well,” Violet says, pursing her lips, “this is certainly awkward, isn’t it?”

“Granny, must you always have the droll last word?” Mary asks, sublimely irritated.

“That depends, dear.” Violet purses her lips. “Must you always resurrect your romantic rival instead of your husband?”

“What do you mean, ‘always’? It’s only happened this once.”

“Oh, Mary,” Violet says, pursing her lips. “Quite contrary indeed.” She titters to herself.

“If this turns out well, then I’m an armadillo,” O’Brien mutters to Cora with a snort.

“Dear, dear O’Brien,” Cora replies fondly, patting her on the hand. “Never change.”

“She’s going to run out of animals sooner or later,” Edith points out sanctimoniously.

“Do shut up, Edith!” says everyone.

Except Mary and Lavinia, who are still locked in quite the glare.


	2. In Which The Household Adjusts To Miss Swire’s Sudden and Most Unexpected Reappearance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the truly staggering amount of times Robert Crawley turns around dramatically. (A recent season 1 rewatch really highlighted that for me!)
> 
> Also, in my head the downstairs Downton crew is still basically in the same state as it was in season 1, since that's the only season I've really watched a lot, so my apologies that all those newbies are basically nowhere to be seen. Ivy ... and ... Jimmy? Are their names? I think? And there's that tall guy?
> 
> WINNING AT DOWNTON, me.

“Lavinia Swire? Resurrected?” The Earl of Grantham whirls around dramatically. The fact that he is wearing his dressing gown and pyjamas lessens the impact of this movement not the slightest bit. There is no way around it: Robert Crawley knows how to rock his nightclothes. And now he is trembling in shock and indignation from his slightly mussed hair to his slippers. “Good God, Mary! It just isn’t done! Is there no end to your unorthodox behavior?”

“Really now, Robert,” Cora chides, giving him a sharp look. “There’s no use getting upset. We simply must see to it that Miss Swire is comfortable. She’s our guest now, after all.”

“And I suppose you think we hadn’t seen enough of her already back when she was alive?” Robert demands.

Miss Swire, it goes without saying, isn’t currently present. (It would be too rude otherwise.) On Cora’s instruction, Edith took her upstairs to one of the spare rooms. Being suddenly alive again, Cora has tactfully speculated, must be rather tiring. And everyone is sick of Edith. For the night, at least.

“If you must know, Papa, I was _trying_ to resurrect Matthew,” Mary says languidly. “I may be unorthodox, but I’d hardly fraternize with the occult for the sake of Lavinia Swire. Why, I haven’t given her a thought in ages.”

(This isn’t strictly true: Lavinia passed through Mary’s mind earlier that very day, if only briefly. Mary knows very well that it’s no use dwelling on the past, but secretly, in a part of her she does not usually even pay attention to, she has always felt very sorry for how things turned out with Lavinia. Mary doesn’t often have true friends and there is an unacknowledged part of her that will always believe Lavinia might have grown to be one.)

“Resurrect Matthew?” Robert’s eyes light up.

“Of course,” Mary says. “He can’t very well get out of raising his son with an excuse as paltry as death.”

“Oh, thank God,” Robert breathes. “I thought you and Tom Branson might be starting up something. I don’t think I could have taken a second daughter marrying the fellow.”

“Robert, is that _really_ the issue right now?” Cora demands.

“When one’s daughter is in danger of marrying the chauffeur,” Violet says sagely, her lips twitching, “it is _always_ the issue.”

“He hasn’t been a chauffeur for years,” Mary points out.

“Once a chauffeur, always a chauffeur!” Violet trills.

“You’re in rare form tonight, Granny,” Mary says.

Violet titters. “Thank you, my dear.”

Mary’s face leaves room for doubt as to whether that was a compliment, but that is hardly enough to discourage Violet.

“Mary, you must simply have a word with Lavinia. Inform her that her reappearance among us was a dreadful mistake and she must return whence she came, and see if she’ll send Matthew back in her place.”

“Tell her to die so that Matthew and I can be together?” Mary surmises wryly. And then: “ _Again_?”

“It’s not ideal,” Robert admits. Rather stuffily. “But if there’s a chance that Matthew might return to us, then we must take it at any cost. And it’s not as if Lavinia Swire could want anything to do with us, after ... well,” he says uncomfortably, “after everything.”

“You’re right,” Mary admits. “Boorish, but right. I’ll go speak to her.”

“Oh my!” Violet says as Mary exits. “I expect we’ve some dramatics in store.”

“Are you drunk?” Cora asks. Rather sharply.

Violet smirks. “Only on life, Cora dear, I quite assure you.”

Cora surreptitiously checks for a flask anyway. It would explain so much.

 

+

 

In the servants’ quarters, Mr. Carson looks even more like an indignant penguin than usual. If an indignant penguin was to find its way somehow into a nightshirt.

“Resurrection?” he booms. “In this house??”

“It’s not as if we could say no, now could we?” O’Brien replies scathingly. “What Lady Mary wants, she gets.”

“I imagine she’s gotten more than she bargained for this time,” Thomas smirks through a cloud of cigarette smoke. Why, exactly, he is smoking in the wee hours of the morning, no one bothers to ask. (It is, in all likelihood, a matter of swagger.)

O’Brien smirks back at him. It is a great relief to everyone at Downton that they are smirking buddies again; there was something frightfully unnatural about them being smirking enemies.

“And you must see where Lady Mary’s coming from, Mr. Carson,” Anna says. “We’ve all missed Mr. Crawley terribly since he passed away.”

“Is she a zombie, then, Miss Swire?” Daisy asks, wrinkling her nose. “Or a ghost?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Daisy!” Mrs. Patmore exclaims.

“I’m just _wondering_ ,” Daisy mumbles.

“No one is a zombie in this house!” Carson thunders.

“There there, Mr. Carson,” Mrs. Hughes chastens. “Things are plenty hectic enough without you bellowing away like a beast, thank you very much.”

“I am not bellowing,” he protests, looking rather stung.

Mrs. Hughes takes a moment to pat him on the arm; his expression softens. Then she instructs, “Anna, see to it that Miss Swire is comfortable. The rest of you, away to bed! This is none of our affair.”

“I’d say it’s everyone’s affair when someone’s arisen from the dead,” Thomas drawls. “Where does it end, eh? Will Lady Sybil show up to breakfast? Is William serving at dinner tomorrow night? Shall we expect another visit from the charming Mr. Pamuk?”

Mrs. Hughes gives him a long stare.

“You deal with this, Ms. O’Brien,” she declares at last. “I don’t think the rest of us are up to quite so much snark.”

“I’m not a shark!” Ms. O’Brien protests.

“That is not remotely what I said,” Mrs. Hughes declares, impatient. “Really now. Do at least _try_ to keep your scathing animal references in check.”

 

+

 

When Mary gets to the spare room, Lavinia is standing with her back to Mary. The slump of her shoulders is quite weary. Mary can’t blame her.

“I’m so sorry about all this,” Mary says, putting on her gracious socialite tones.

“It’s a bit of an unexpected twist,” Lavinia agrees, still not turning around.

“Well, I’ve learned my lesson. Be extremely specific the next time I’m summoning someone back from the dead.”

“You can’t just exchange me for Matthew now, you know. It’s not that simple.”

“Oh, isn’t it?”

“No. It was me that got pulled back. Now I’ve got to fulfill my destiny.” Lavinia sighs and sits on the bed. “Whatever that might be.”

“You don’t sound very thrilled,” Mary observes after a moment’s tense silence. Tentatively, she sits at the foot of the bed, careful to leave plenty of space between herself and Lavinia.

“My father’s dead. As far as all my friends know, I’ve been gone for years. Matthew’s gone, and even if he wasn’t, he moved on from me long ago. There’s nothing left for me besides you Downton lot, and to be frank, Mary, I’m still a bit peeved about how things went before.”

“You can’t very well die of the Spanish Flu twice,” Mary points out reasonably. “How bad can things get?”

Lavinia gives her a withering stare.

“Sorry,” Mary mutters, uncharacteristically shamed. “That was uncalled for.”

“Rather,” Lavinia agrees. Death has certainly given her a bit of an edge.

They sit in the very awkward quiet.

“Shouldn’t you be with George?” Lavinia says then.

“George?”

“Your baby,” Lavinia says impatiently.

“Oh yes,” Mary says, feeling a little embarrassed. She makes her voice extra breezy to compensate. “Him. He doesn’t do much yet, and he’s much more comfortable with the nurse.”

“But you’re his mother.”

“And it’s very stressful.  I never really thought about having babies. Heirs, yes, but heirs and babies are very different.”

“You’re lucky,” Lavinia says. “Some of us will never be able to have children at all.”

And that’s rather a twist of the knife.

“I can take you to see him, if you like,” Mary offers awkwardly.

To her surprise, Lavinia says, “Well, all right." 

 

+

 

“Oh, he’s _beautiful_ ,” Lavinia breathes, looking down at tiny sleeping George. Mary feels a surge of appreciation for her formerly dead ex-rival for Matthew’s heart. Mary understands exactly the feeling that’s all over Lavinia’s face; that silly but overwhelming wonder at her baby’s whole existence. Mary is careful not to show it very often. Being unabashedly sentimental over one’s children is so common. 

But on Lavinia, it doesn’t look common at all. Just lovely. Especially considering a few hours ago she was six feet under.

“He’ll do,” Mary answers airily.

“You’re terrible,” Lavinia scolds, careful to keep her voice quiet. “He’s perfect.”

_I wish Matthew could see him,_ Mary thinks, but knows better than to say. Even under the present circumstances, she’s not going to let her mask slip that far.

“I’m sure George will be happy to know he has a new admirer,” Mary murmurs instead. “Especially one who’s a ghost. How many babies can boast the same?”

Lavinia reaches over and pinches Mary’s arm. Her hands are a little cold, but indisputably solid.

“Ouch!” Mary says. 

“Not a ghost,” Lavinia replies.

“I’ll remember that,” Mary says wryly.

 

+

 

When Mary returns downstairs, her parents and Violet are still there, waiting eagerly for a progress report.

“Lavinia’s staying,” she announces flatly.

“What do you mean, Lavinia’s staying?!?!” demands Robert. He takes a moment to turn his back to Mary; then he whirls around dramatically to face her.

“Really, Papa, that was completely unnecessary,” Mary points out, rolling her eyes. “You were already looking right at me.”

Robert ignores her. Mostly because it’s a very good point. “So instead of having a mother and a father, young George will have a mother and a second mother, who’s _formerly dead_?”

“It is the 1920s, Robert,” Cora says. “Perhaps we ought to make some effort to change with the times.”

Robert looks vaguely ill. “Where the devil is Bates?? I need a soothing foot massage.”

And with that, he storms off in a huff.

“Oh-ho-ho!” Violet titters.


End file.
